Bronchial Nitrates

"Like all eighties kids, I was so busy being told how special I was I didn't get that went for everybody else."-- a lift from @TBlackford3

The prosthetic finger was a shock, and if I remember nothing else from The Piano, vaguely recollected as having run on network, but not overkilled, remembering that finger, remembering an inchoate grunt of protest, this is sufficient in inimical effervescence, the recognition of Anna Paquin raven haired, with that cherubic mouth she carries over to Darkness (a film which aired three times at least after my initial viewing, a film which I need to sit still for a fourth try, which in euphemistic terms means pushing the Quickie switch down. It emits a chirp which sounds cut off in mortal peril, a fragile Easter chick snapped like a wishbone, then making sure bladder remains pacified). Enigmatic images. I was not haunted like our avuncular ghost who spent so much money reconstructing a jaw and a mouth he could not use. I wrestled slightly about continuing to follow Chaz, but that would have been an act of fetishistic supersize fawning. I respected Ebert, but he played to audience catering in ways I'd refuse as a critic. A mechanized finger, elegant imperfection in a moving and vivid visual poem leagues removed Westworld, yet the props evoke each other, hinged digit and silver contacts of an ethically ambiguous chameleon casting directors can't utilize on the cheap that way ever again. Bynner played every type except starched bread: Indians, Asians, mulattoes, Russians, Christ knows what I've missed besides the robot, not nearly as sophisticated as the nightmare that kept Asimov up at night as he sequeled his Foundation trilogy, but Asimov might have appreciated Yul's last death stance as the  living Yoda turned gollem in his notorious service announcement. I may have also seen Polanski's swan, the haunted survivor threshing out America's narcissistic victimology. This is the universal thread binding all Americans. Emotionalism flows outward from us like liquid gold. The majority of us aren't worth a great deal as a matter of tort, regardless of self interest. This is the reason I tweaked Troy's tag, aside from copping to denominators along the subtle distinctions among networking aggregates, as the inflated Americanism that makes the United States insufferable, a repetitive chase after cotton candy, the best drug to slurp at the zoo.

I applied for my first online job, a freelance two bit perhaps ethically dubious, but too busy with my schedule to work during these few days of a break. Sanguine however, about Blogger post time consumption, as I have a book and a few articles buried in here, even if my portrait from Drinker's West inexplicably vanished. Perhaps it was data usage.